


An Extraordinary Girl

by we_could_be_heroes



Category: The Knick (TV)
Genre: F/F, First Time, Unrequited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-15 14:13:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2231991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/we_could_be_heroes/pseuds/we_could_be_heroes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucy does a lot of things for a lot of people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Extraordinary Girl

What is that perfume? Lucy wonders. It is too pungent and heavy for Cornelia, it clashes with the softness of her features, the tenderness of her gestures. No doubt something her father bought for her during one of his trips abroad. She heard many a story about Mr. Robertson and knew Cornelia admired him, but he clearly had no taste when it came to women's fragrances.

"Careful," Cornelia said before, as Lucy untied and unbuttoned her brown silk dress and briefly, Lucy was tempted to abandon the exercise altogether. Of course she would be careful - she was always careful, whether it came to keeping secrets or to performing precise tasks with her dexterous fingers. The slight is now all but forgotten, though, as both of them are finally nude, the dress folded on a chair, Cornelia reclining against the pillows on her four-poster bed and Lucy above her, smelling the strong perfume on her soft neck. She traces her lips down between her breasts and across her belly, feeling the skin shiver involuntarily, until the slightly stringy hair in Cornelia's lap tickles her nose. She nudges Cornelia's legs further apart and flicks her tongue across the one place she knows will get the best reaction. The scent there is much more natural and Lucy puts her tongue to work while smelling honey and hay. Cornelia sighs and writhes rather demurely, as she probably supposes she should, completing the image in Lucy's head that she has somehow entered a painting where nothing is quite as tangibly real as it should be. She uses her fingers to accentuate the licking and sucking of her mouth and sooner than she would expect, Cornelia shudders and exhales and pulls on Lucy's hair to stop her from teasing the oversensitive spot. Lucy draws herself up and kisses her, deeply, but Cornelia tilts her head to the side, and pushes her away.

Then she says, her eyes not meeting Lucy's: "That was ... quite extraordinary. I'm glad I - I'm glad you -"

"Your fiancé doesn't do this for you? You should ask him while he's still pliable," Lucy says, settling herself down into the pillows.

"Oh," Cornelia laughs and reaches to the bedpost to extinguish the lamp, but not before Lucy sees the color rise in her cheeks, "we haven't actually, well, you understand." They are both silent for a moment, but then Cornelia turns toward Lucy, their faces inches apart, and starts to talk, to share. Her breath caresses Lucy's face as she tells her about her coming wedding, about her constant worries over the fate of The Knick, and finally, even about her hopes for new and large-scale social reforms - and just like that, listening more to the melody than to the content of Cornelia's words, Lucy realizes Cornelia never wanted a lover, she wanted a friend.

She should be flattered, she supposes, even so. The trouble is, Cornelia isn't the first person who's asked for her friendship, a special kind of friendship, one that will undoubtedly involve a lot of giving on Lucy's part while always receiving just a tad less than enough in return. She meets with her second special friend the following day, after she spends the night in Cornelia's embrace and then cycles to the hospital whole two hours before her, to make sure no one guesses at their freshly established connection.

"Close the door, will you?" John Thackery instructs Lucy from behind his desk.

She closes the door and comes to stand in front of him, smoothing down her white dress and wondering whether the request he is about to make will be of professional or personal nature.

"I think you suspect why I called you here."

"No, sir, in fact, I don't." Lucy answers truthfully.

"You're an extraordinary young woman, Nurse Elkins," he says, "as I am sure you know."

"Thank you, sir."

"I have - due to my own carelessness - put you in a position where you have to guard a secret that should have just been mine."

"You have nothing to worry about, sir."

"I know, I know," he says, sliding open one of the drawers in his desk. He frowns at something in there and then slides it closed again. "And because I know all this, I've decided you're the only person I can ask to assist me in an ... experiment."

"An experiment?" Lucy raises an eyebrow. "Of course."

"I'm almost certain I will fail, but still ... _The miserable hath no other medicine but only hope_."

She politely nods at the quotation and then listens to Dr. Thackery explain to her he's decided to make another attempt to break his addiction, only this time with better planning and assistance. Her assistance. She agrees to call at him on Sunday, to check on his status and possibly administer a diluted cocaine solution.

Just as she closes the door when stepping out of his office, Dr. Chickering passes by her, exchanging a friendly greeting and, to her surprise, pressing a card into her hand. She stares at the somewhat incongruous picture of a bouquet of roses and a kitten before she turns it over and reads: _Lucy, would you come to the theater with me tomorrow? They're playing A Runaway Girl. I haven't seen it, have you?_

She hasn't, but she will.


End file.
